Vyan’s eyes snapped open, but the basalt walls and the spray of the waterfall were gone.
He found himself standing on a floor of polished obsidian, reflecting a ceiling so high it seemed to hold its own weather.
They were in a royal palace of impossible scale.
Everything was draped in gold, and everywhere the eye turned, the emblem of a Blazing Sun was carved into the pillars, the doors, and the very silk of the banners.
Vyan stood frozen, his fear from the “warp” completely forgotten, swallowed by the sheer radiance of the place.
He spun around, his mouth hanging open as he tried to take in the grandeur.
Ansh stood beside him, his eyes narrow and calculating.
He wasn’t blinded by the gold.
So…
it isn’t a mechanical puzzle, he thought, his hand twitching.
It’s a memory.
A psychic imprint left by the visitor.
But Why show us this?
His thoughts were cut short by a roar of voices.
The scene was a royal court in turmoil.
On a massive Golden Sun Throne sat a man whose face was a mask of profound sorrow, on his forehead was yellow sun, his crown feeling heavy as lead.
Below him, the ministers and elders of the realm were in a frenzy.
Their shouting filled the hall like a storm.
In the center of the court stood a woman.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, even as she stood alone against the vitriol of the crowd.
“Banish her!” a minister screamed, his finger trembling with rage.
Vyan watched, confused.
Through the “memory,” he understood the weight of the words: this woman was the Queen, the owner of a Grotto, who had returned from somewhere only to be met with suspicion.
A high minister stepped forward from the King’s side, unfurling a scroll of royal parchment.
The room fell into a deathly, suffocating silence.
“By the decree of His Majesty,” the minister read, his voice cold and official.
“Queen Tara, Grade 5 Yogi, is hereby sentenced to banishment for fourteen years. She is to prove her purity and loyalty on the front lines again, fighting for the glory of the crown and come step to into the divine fire to clear her name.”
Vyan looked up at the King.
He saw the way the man’s hands gripped the armrests of the throne until his knuckles turned white.
He saw the way Tara looked at him—not with anger, but with a devastating, silent understanding.
He is sad, Why is he doing it?
Vyan wondered, his young mind struggling with the concept.
He loves her.
Why send her away to the away?
“So that’s it,” Ansh whispered, his voice dark with realization.
“That’s how she ended up dying in the waste.”
The palace dissolved.
The gold melted into burning orange sand.
Vyan found himself in the middle of a battlefield.
The heat was a physical weight, and the air tasted of copper.
This was the first time Vyan had ever seen a high-level Yogi truly fight.
Queen Tara moved like a streak of light.
Vyan was speechless, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched the true power of a Grade 5.
But as the last enemy fell, Tara stumbled.
A deep, jagged wound ran across her gut, the edges black with some foul energy.
Blood—rich and dark—soaked through her white battle-silks.
She didn’t scream.
She sank to her knees in the sand and smiled at the setting sun.
“My Lord,” she whispered, her voice a soft caress against the wind.
“I hope… someday… it will reach you.”
She reached into her hair and pulled out a hairclip.
It was an yantra of singular beauty—the Choodamani.
It pulsed with a soft, rhythmic light, an artifact designed to reveal the truth of one’s heart, to show who is loyal and who is not.
With the last of her failing strength, Tara channeled her remaining Prana into the sand.
She didn’t build a fortress; she built a small Sanctum.
“I apologise that you had to go through it alone my lord. I am happy to know I met you in my life… my one and only true Lord.”
She sat inside the small, protected space as the sand began to rise around her.
She buried the entire Grotto—the memory and the palace—deep underground, hiding it from the world.
As her eyes closed for the last time, her will merged with the Choodamani.
From that union of stone, silver, and soul, a Spirit was born—a guardian tasked with holding the inheritance of the Queen until someone worthy arrived.
“Welcome to The Sovereign Of Kaliyuga! New chapters dropping daily.”